Architectural landmarks often cluster together. In Tokyo, the iconic Omotesando is a well-known stretch where global "starchitects" built flagship luxury retail spaces in the 2000s. Hong Kong has a lesser-known but equally powerful architectural agglomeration along Queensway—though historically more corporate and less publicly engaging. Beginning in the 1980s, this corridor became home to a series of landmark buildings by some of the world's most prominent architects: Norman Foster's HSBC Headquarters, I.M. Pei's Bank of China Tower, Paul Rudolph's Lippo Centre, and the nearby Murray Building by Ron Phillips—now revitalized as a hotel by Foster + Partners. The area is further enriched later on by Heatherwick Studio's renovation of Pacific Place and Tod Williams Billie Tsien Architects' Asia Society Hong Kong Center.
The main role of architecture is to create structures that protect us from the environment and create spaces that are safe and comfortable for all types of needs and activities. By providing shelter, architecture also shapes the way people interact with their surroundings. Building technologies of the past rarely managed, however, to create a complete separation between us and the outside world.
While impermeability was a desired outcome, the porous building materials available always allowed some water, wind, or outside particles to leak into the interior spaces. In contrast, modern technologies now allow for almost completely impermeable building envelopes, allowing for complete separation between indoors and outdoors, thus relying on engineered systems to regulate temperature, airflow, or humidity. This article explores the differences between these two contrasting approaches, exploring how building facades are equipped to regulate indoor comfort and its environmental impact.
Aerial view of Beta Building in Honduras. Image Courtesy of Taller ACÁ
Understanding the temperature gradient in a building is essential in cold or temperate climates, where airtight enclosures and continuous insulation are used to prevent heat loss. However, this approach is not suitable for tropical areas like Central America, where the climate is marked by a consistent alternation between wet and dry seasons rather than four distinct ones. Factors such as proximity to the sea, elevation, and local topography influence microclimates across short distances, but high humidity remains a common challenge. Sealed, airtight walls with no ventilation can quickly become breeding grounds for mold, making the thermal strategies of temperate climates problematic. In response, local designers have developed alternative approaches that embrace, rather than resist, the outdoor environment, allowing airflow and evaporation to manage interior comfort.
Sustainability in architecture is often framed as a universal challenge, leading to standardized solutions that prioritize efficiency over context. However, architecture is inherently tied to its environment — buildings interact with climate, topography, and cultural history in ways that demand specificity. Instead of relying on standardized sustainability checklists, how can architecture embrace site-specific solutions? This conversation is deeply connected to the concept of Genius Loci, or the spirit of a place, introduced by Christian Norberg-Schulz and embraced by architects advocating for designs that resonate with their surroundings. It suggests that architecture should not be imposed upon a site but rather emerge from it, informed by its materials, climate, and cultural significance. This philosophy challenges the widespread application of generic sustainable technologies, instead proposing that sustainability must be inherently tied to the location in which it operates.
Our contemporary society has been witnessing a surge in skyscraper construction in urban centers worldwide for various reasons—including engineering advancements, increased urban density, space constraints, and, arguably, a competitive drive for building the tallest structures. The allure of all-glass facades and the pursuit of curtain walls with larger panes of continuous glass have often come at the cost of functionality.
In these towers, operable windows are sacrificed for aesthetics and expansive views, with a central core layout that maximizes 360-degree views while creating architectural "solar heat-gain monsters." Without natural or cross ventilation, these glass skyscrapers trap significant heat from solar radiation within habitable spaces, relying almost exclusively on mechanical HVAC systems to cool these spaces. This raises the question: is passive ventilation strategy becoming obsolete in high-rise design, or can operable systems be integrated effectively into our high-tech towers?
Zaha Hadid Architects (ZHA) has been announced as the architect of the Alisher Navoi International Scientific Research Centre, an expansive cultural and educational facility taking shape in New Tashkent, Uzbekistan. The center is set to incorporate the Navoi State Museum of Literature, along with a 400-seat auditorium and an International Research Center and residential school dedicated to training 200 students in the Uzbek language, literature, and music.
For centuries, arid environments have solved the problem of light, privacy, and heat through a statement architectural feature of Islamic and Arab architecture, the mashrabiya. Crafted from geometric patterns traditionally made from short lengths of turned wood, the mashrabiya features lattice-like patterns that form large areas. Traditionally, it was used to catch wind and offer passive cooling in the dry Middle Eastern desert heat. Frequently used on the side street of a built structure, water jars, and basins were placed inside it to activate evaporative cooling. The cool air from the street would pass through the wooden screen, providing air movement for the occupants.
Similar to the Indian jali, the vernacular language also offers a playful experience with daylight while still maintaining a certain degree of privacy. Traced back to Ottoman origins, the perforated screens protected occupants’ from the sun while simultaneously letting daylight through in calculated doses. Although the mashrabiya was a statement in arab and Islamic architecture languages, it wasn’t until 1987 that the archetypal element began appearing with a revised contemporary application.
As a highly transparent material that stands up to all but the most extreme of weather conditions, is easily formed into any size or shape, and, once formed, will last for thousands of years, glass is still one of the most innovative and crucial materials used in architecture. Although contemporary building practices allow us to form huge, glittering skyscrapers of glass that rise hundreds of meters into the air, the ancient material’s original purpose – to welcome light into weathertight and secure interiors – remains its most important more than a thousand years on.
As important as glass is to almost every typology of architecture in the form of windows, when it comes to the roof of a building, the use of glass is not so simple. We’ve understood the power and danger of combining light and glass ever since we saw a magnifying glass used to concentrate the heat of sunlight into incredibly high temperatures in children’s cartoons. Under a glass roof, the solar gain can make for uncomfortable internal environments without the correct protective precautions.
The Mysk Al Badayer Retreat in the desert outside Dubai, United Arab Emirates. Image Courtesy of Mysk Al Badayer Retreat
Set deep within some of the most isolated desert landscapes across the Middle East and further afield, these desert camp hotels offer a way to connect with their surroundings through the solitary experience of open and expansive scenery.
Unlike the air, the temperature in the subsoil varies very little during the year or according to geographical position. A few meters below the surface, the ground temperature is between about 10 to 21°C (50 to 70°F) depending on the region. Dig deeper, and the temperature increases between 20 to 40 degrees centigrade per km, reaching the Earth's core, which approaches 5000 °C. In fact, thinking about how we inhabit a sphere that is orbiting through space with a glowing center can be distressing for some. However, it may be helpful to learn that using Earth's forming energy to generate electricity is a sustainable and efficient way that is already common in some countries. At the same time, we can also take advantage of the mild temperature found a few meters under the ground to acclimatize buildings, whether in hot or cold climates.
In the context of global initiatives to promote energy efficiency and the decarbonization of buildings, Latin America is at the center of the debate. The International Seminar on Sustainable and NetZero Buildings 2023, held in Bogotá and organized by CCCS, IEA, UNIANDES, CAF, and CEELA, aimed primarily to create a space for the exchange of experiences, such as Oliver Schütte's No Footprint House, while simultaneously conducting a review of government policies and the implementation of norms and standards in the region.
Among panels and conferences featuring Clara Camarasa, Nicola Borregaard, Laura Chapa, Paola Valencia, Iván Osuna, Juan Carlos Vega, Angélica Ospina, and Diego Velandia, five main learnings emerged as lessons: from creating more relevance and energy calculations to the development of the timber industry - and certifications.
How is it possible to reduce the energy consumption of our homes? What design, material, and/or technological strategies can be developed to achieve interior comfort while also addressing the climate crisis? While achieving energy efficiency depends, among other factors, on the state of the homes, there are various strategies related to the implementation of renewable energies, air conditioning technologies, and more that can be applied, taking into account government policies, laws, regulations, and standards specific to each region.
The world has just witnessed the hottest months in recorded history, and the outlook is far from optimistic. Rising temperatures are driving greater cooling demands, threatening to trigger a vicious cycle of higher electricity use and carbon emissions. In a planet simultaneously facing unprecedented urbanization and a climate crisis, the intersection of building energy efficiency and cooling technologies has never been more crucial.
An arid environment refers to specific regions characterized by a severe lack of available water and extremely dry weather conditions. More specifically, arid regions by definition, receive less than 25 centimeters of rain per year. In the immense vastness of arid environments, where extreme climates present significant challenges, the role of water in architecture takes on a new dimension.
For centuries, architects and designers dealing with harsh desert landscapes and the vital necessity of water have invented techniques, technologies, and new structures. Moreover, many creative approaches have been created to harness, collect, and cool water in arid environments.
Before fossil-fuel powered air-conditioning became widely available, people living in harsh climates had nothing but natural means to ventilate their spaces and control the interior temperature. To do so, they took into account several external factors such as their location, orientation with respect to the sun and wind, their area's climate conditions, and local materials. In this article, we explore how ancient civilizations in Western Asia and North Africa have used windcatchers to adapt to the region's harsh climate and provide passive cooling solutions that are still being used in contemporary architecture, proving that local approaches to climate adaptability are fundamental to the development of today's built environment.
Automation is everywhere around us - our homes, furniture, offices, cars, and even our clothing; we have become so accustomed to being surrounded by automated systems that we have forgotten what life was like without them. And while automation has noticeably improved the quality of interior spaces with solutions like purified air and temperature control, nothing compares to the natural cool breeze of mother nature.
But just like everything else in architecture, there is no one size fits all; what works in Tanzania cannot work in Switzerland or Colombia. This is due to several reasons, such as the difference in wind direction, average temperature, spatial needs, and environmental restrictions (or lack thereof). In this article, we take a look at natural ventilation in all its forms, and how architects have employed this passive solution in different contexts.
